Commonalities
by spiderstan0spiderstan
Summary: "As part of the RK800's social integration programming, a more holistic alternative to conventional in-field damage reporting has been instituted." In which Connor is damaged, and Gavin is forced to reconsider where his sympathies lie.


Gavin wasn't a fan of androids, and especially not a fan of their resident cybernetic Nancy Drew. He didn't like how much they looked like people; how little warning one had, if they were going to snap and stab someone twenty-eight times. His first memories of those little blue lights had been in the earliest models- uncanny, bulky things, that had flooded the industries where humans didn't want to be.

Like industries where patients could get violent. Where caring about hurting people was impractical.

The DPD's particular choice was… disturbing. It put him in mind of those creepy baby dolls from the early 2010s that talked in horrible pre-recorded voices and cried _'real tears!'_ if you pressed a button. It was clearly _made_ to be more appealing than it was in practice- Everything it did read as a lie.

And they were breaking down the economy, so that didn't help.

He wasn't willing to deep dive into his beef with the mannequin race, though, so he stopped at _stupid plastic dickhead_ and considered that a default. So when he found Anderson's tag-along toaster alone and unguarded in the break room, well, that could have been a great opportunity to get back at it.

But something made him hesitate.

Normally, the RKwhateverthefuck was perfectly perfect in every way, as though it was propped upright by the sheer magnitude of the stick up its injection-molded arse. Gavin had never seen it with so much as a hair out of place. Anderson always toted it down to the robot-freak genius bar when it got broken, so he'd never actually had the chance to see it damaged. It was always fixed up too quickly.

Now, though, it didn't look like a damaged machine, even in the eye-straining, dim lights of the break room.

The android- normally so stoic it could have been mistaken for a statue- was slumped at a table, head bowed, a steaming paper cup clasped between its hands. Even from an awkward angle, it was obviously…ruffled, the syntehtic hair for once messy, the tie loose, everything creased as though nobody had bothered to iron its clothing. It was kind of shocking that they could even _get_ so dishevelled.

"Hey, robocop!" Gavin called, as he walked past to the coffee machine. Coffee in this place was a bargain with the devil to sacrifice one's taste buds in exchange for caffeine, but he'd been there long enough to acclimatise.

He would have kept talking, but then the robot twitched a little and he almost dropped his cup, because he could have sworn he'd just heard the damn thing _sniffle_.

Which didn't make sense.

Gavin moved to face it. Stare it down. When had they gotten lungs? When had that happened? He'd known about the replicated breathing, because it'd been on of the most prominently missing things from his android apprehendors- and one of the most disturbing things to see suddenly starting in new releases.

It didn't respond, but it wasn't as motionless as normal- motionless meant standby, and this wasn't standby. It was making irregular little shifts, like a human that couldn't quite find balance. Its eyes were closed.

Gavin snapped his fingers in front of its face.

"Oi, brave little toaster, I'm talking to you," he said. "What's wrong with you? "

The plastic fucker finally made eye contact, and Gavin started back. It looked like hell, in way it shouldn't have been able to. Its skin was so pale that it almost looked like it'd deactivated it, dark shadows smudged beneath its eyes.

"Officer Reed," it said, and holy crap that _voice_. There was a bizarre hoarseness to it, like the thing was in the first few days of the flu. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you come in."

"No shit," Gavin sneered, gesturing to the lights. Then, in the spirit of scientific investigation- "lights to one hundred percent."

The ceiling-recessed lights flared on, and the Barbie beat cop _winced_. Scrubbed the heels of its hands into its eyes, like the light was hurting it.

"Wow," Gavin said. "Are you fucking _hungover?_ Did you pick that up from Anderson too?"

"I'm… functioning suboptimally at the moment." the robot said, sounding utterly and crushingly disappointed in itself. Every time it fucked up, the thing behaved like a puppy that had just pissed on the carpet.

" _Functioning suboptimally,"_ Gavin mimicked. "What do we do to fix that? Stick you upside down in a bowl of rice?"

The two-bit terminator shrugged.

"I would need to run a full diagnostic," the android said. "I can't… I can't just pinpoint it."

The facial expressions were relatively new, because it'd had to learn them like an infant, but now it was reflecting pure misery. _Anxious_ misery, and Gavin suddenly got the point of those big brown puppydog eyes- to make people feel like assholes.

"Aren't you things supposed to, I dunno, fix yourselves?"

The little glowy light on its head flickered yellow-red-yellow, like it was about to go all xbox 360 and display the red ring of death. It sniffled again.

"Supposed to." it agreed, the words tinged with frustration. So it had to be _really_ broken, then- possibly too broken to drag itself down to cybernetic support, where they fixed up the android beat cops.

The android raised its cup- hand shaking slightly, Gavin noted- and sipped.

"You guys can drink now?"

The android tilted the cup towards him in reply, looking a very relatable amount of done with the world's bullshit. Instead of coffee, the cup was filled almost to the brim with semi-translucent electric blue. Thirium- and that was weird as hell, because the shit evaporated like acetone, especially _hot_ , and came in little plastic packets that unsuspecting grad students sometimes drunkenly mistook for capri suns. It would have been a ridiculous amount of effort to put it in a cup and heat it, and made the process of drinking it less efficient.

It was strange behaviour. Especially for a machine. In a human, it would have made sense- comfort. Something machines didn't need.

"Huh." Gavin said. "Where's your keeper? Shouldn't Anderson take you to get serviced or something, if you're- if you're broken?"

He could overpower it right now, he realised. That was probably why it was complying with the questioning. Androids were stronger, faster, more durable than humans- under normal circumstances. Right now, though? A child could have destroyed the thing. Everything about it was an ode to how _vulnerable_ it was.

Maybe that was why he'd nearly slipped up, almost phrased it as _if you're not feeling well_.

Plastic couldn't feel anything.

"Hank is not my _keeper_ ," the android said, and the note of annoyance in the phrase was completely undermined when he bent to cough harshly into his elbow, and resurfaced with watering eyes. "We're colleagues. That's all."

"Colleagues. Right," Gavin said. "That's why you're just sitting in the dark like some lost orphan the second he's not around. Very professional."

He was expecting some smug-snarky retort, or at least the faux-pleasant indifference he normally got. But this time, the android's little mood-ring light went cherry red, and he closed his eyes, too long to be a simulated blink, and slumped further, propping his head up with one hand.

"Did you _need_ anything, Detective Reed?" RK800 asked, his voice a frustrated sigh.

"Yeah, a robot detective that's not _functioning suboptimally_ ," gavin swallowed a mouthful of his own rapidly-cooling coffee. "Fuck off back off to best buy and get fixed, or I'm gonna tell Fowler. I don't wanna be picking up your slack."

Connor remained unresponsive. Like a bricked phone, which he basically was.

Gavin poked him, hard, in the tacky little circle of fake skin inside the LED light. that didn't do _shit_ \- he jerked his head away, but otherwise didn't react. The plastic was hot to the touch, even with hands warmed by holding coffee. It was distantly reminiscent of the first computer Gavin bought himself, before he'd took it apart enough to dig all the cat hair out of the fan.

Did Connor have fans?

After a few too-long seconds of scowling at the thing, Gavin folded, and made a phone call.

"Hey, Anderson?" he interrupted the- coherent, thankfully- reply. "Your xbox is red-ringing, come get it."


End file.
